Raise your hand if you\u2019re sick and tired of reading about my boobs! \u00a0The only hand I see raised is that of my husband. Well, he doesn\u2019t count, so here I go!<\/p>\n
Listen, I\u2019ve been rejected for many things in my life; the cheerleading team in 10th<\/sup> grade (I had to settle for Drill Team, and also those stupid Drill Team flags rejected me, forcing me to retire from that squad very early), HOMECOMING COURT (still bitter), and a cushy advertising job in LA. \u00a0But most painful (and it was actually painful in the pain sense of the word), I was rejected by the donor tissue necessary to keep my itty-bitty implants securely in place. \u00a0That donor tissue garnered from a swine had the audacity to reject my boobies, and turn its nose up to them, pack a suitcase and travel south towards belly button villa. \u00a0The tissue came loose, it dropped, they dropped and then I dropped\u2026into another surgical suite.<\/p>\n Well, like Groundhog Day, I was again atop the OR table with my surgeon performing the ritual I\u2019m sure he can do both in his sleep, and while country-clubbing. \u00a0I feel like the hospital pre-op and post-op peeps are now related to me and I\u2019m comfortable enough to walk around bare-butt and filter-free at leisure when I visit their \u2018hood\u2019 every third month. \u00a0We don\u2019t even pretend to be professional any longer. \u00a0We exchange recipes, chat about ungrateful children and the fact that everyone involved in my surgery will be golfing the next day, with no care for my health, wellness, and puke-to-pill ratio. \u00a0We\u2019ve all become buds!<\/p>\n My kids have become completely immune and unemotional to these gala affairs. \u00a0Everyone used to care. Now my 17-year-old was more concerned about scraping together 59 bucks in time for the midnight release of a stupid Xbox game.\u00a0 And my husband was more concerned that they didn\u2019t have the ESPN station in the waiting room. \u00a0I would go so far as to say he was irate.<\/p>\n BUT!\u00a0 According to my phone, there was hope!<\/p>\n Post-surgery, I noticed three missed calls from my recently college-bound son, Nicholas. \u00a0Once awake, yet not quite myself, I called back. \u201cYes, Nick?\u201d \u00a0He must be so worried! \u00a0Three calls! \u00a0\u201cYeah, hey Mom. \u00a0Put Dad on the phone. It\u2019s important.\u201d<\/p>\n Silence.<\/p>\n \u201cUm\u2026Nick\u2026didn\u2019t you want to ask me how I\u2019m feeling?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy? \u00a0What did you do now? \u00a0Did you sideswipe someone in Gerrrity\u2019s parking lot and blame it on Grampa again?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNoooo\u2026I had surgery today\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOH! YES! I KNEW that! \u00a0I did. \u00a0I really did. \u00a0You\u2019re okay, right? \u00a0I thought so. I mean, it\u2019s like tire rotation\u2026every few months whether you need it or not, right? \u00a0Heh-heh-heh. \u00a0Good job, Maria. \u00a0Now give the phone to dad. It\u2019s urgent. It\u2019s about wrestling.\u201d \u00a0I said: \u201cThank God. \u00a0I thought it may have been about.\u00a0 You know, classes and grades and tests and crap like that. \u00a0Like freaking father, like son.\u201d<\/p>\n My daughter, now a nursing student, came home to visit. \u00a0I thought this would be an ideal on-the-job exercise for her! \u00a0Help me to the bathroom! \u00a0Help change my bandages! \u00a0Help empty my drain! \u00a0(It\u2019s not hyperbole. It\u2019s an actual drain attached to my breast; I\u2019m not referring to the emptying of a urinary catheter, here. \u00a0This time.)<\/p>\n She came into my room, plopped down on the bed and stared at me. \u00a0\u201cMan, Mom, you need a makeover.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI have two boobs now, that\u2019s not enough of a makeover for you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou have really enormous bags under your eyes and you look so pasty! \u00a0And there is a Band Aid stuck in your hair. \u00a0I need to help you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m glad to hear you say that honey. \u00a0Can you get me some ice cream?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t need that. \u00a0Too much sugar. \u00a0Empty calories. \u00a0Bad. \u00a0I\u2019ll make you a nice plate of brown rice and then I\u2019m giving you a makeover.\u201d \u00a0She will make a spectacular nurse. \u00a0So compassionate!<\/p>\n My anesthesiologist (in my mind) was in cahoots with my husband.\u00a0 He gave me enough sedation to make a horse sleep for three days. \u00a0And I\u2019m the horse. \u00a0(Do horses have boobs?) \u00a0So, while I lie, inert, gumming my pain pills and brown rice, my daughter sets out her wares.\u00a0 False eyelashes, foundation, mascara, eyeliner, blush, eye shadow and some stupid thing called eye primer. \u00a0EYE PRIMER!<\/p>\n She got to work. \u00a0And it was work! She honest-to-God gave me a makeover.\u00a0 But all I wanted was some lousy ice cream!<\/p>\n We had trouble from the get-go when I passed-out during the false-eyelash application. \u00a0The glue got stuck to my cornea. \u00a0We pried it apart using a hot washcloth and a letter opener. \u00a0I was good to go. \u00a0By the time she was complete, I looked like Cher, off-off-off Broadway. \u00a0But not the real Cher!\u00a0 No, the male impersonator of Cher. \u00a0Now, I am not judging, people. \u00a0Not the way I looked. \u00a0Call me Bob in Drag\u2026with a drain.<\/p>\n I suppose, after all was all said and done, she did take my mind off my pain. And she gave me a useful pep talk about how I needed to combat my cr\u00eape paper-like eyelids. \u00a0But I did not think it was going to end up with yet more surgery!<\/p>\n I asked: \u201cGirl, what possesses you? \u00a0I\u2019m good enough the way I am! \u00a0Good enough! \u00a0Sure, I\u2019m as bruised and battered as last season\u2019s honeydew melon, but I thought I was kind-of okay. \u00a0Why am I not okay?\u201d<\/p>\n She paused, looked sadly at me, took my bandaged, limp hand in hers and said: \u201cOh honey, okay isn\u2019t good enough. \u00a0You want to be spectacular! \u00a0Do you want people to keep asking if you\u2019re my grandmother? \u00a0Heck no. \u00a0Sure, it\u2019s what inside that makes the person, but your outside is a tad beat-up. So tomorrow we\u2019ll try waxing those George Bush eyebrows and your genetically-downloaded mustache! \u00a0Fun!\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n